


Tried and Tested

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, whisky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 15:52:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16244900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: “The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies.”Part of MFMM's Whumptober Fanfic Challenge.





	Tried and Tested

**Author's Note:**

> My second contribution to the MFMM's Whumptober Fanfic Challenge.
> 
> The prompt for this story is “Betrayed.”
> 
> Many thanks to Fire_Sign for the beta read and the ALMOST COMPLETE spreadsheet! (hint, hint...)

It was late, even by Phryne’s standards. But hopefully not too late. She had told him recently, right before being aggravatingly interrupted by her aunt, that it was never too late, but she wasn’t quite certain whether the sentiment was reciprocated. Phryne walked out of the cold and into the station quietly, and passed through the entranceway unobserved. The constable on the night shift must be down in the cells or otherwise occupied, and for that she was grateful. This did not require an audience.

His office door was closed, but the light was on inside. He was, as she suspected, working absurdly long hours these days, though whether that was by choice or by necessity she was uncertain.

She knocked, a concession for the time. For a moment there was no answer, and she considered turning back around, but then a gruff “Yes?” sounded from inside.

“Just me, Jack. Can I come in?”

There was another long pause and she briefly worried that he would send her away. 

“Yes,” he replied.

She opened the door and closed it behind her, taking a seat in her chair and surveying his desk. It was covered with papers, a tea cup, a plate. He’d clearly been holed up a while.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Fine,” he lied. She raised an eyebrow, but had the decency not to call him on it.

“Looks like you’re keeping yourself busy,” she noted.

“Yes,” he agreed. She rolled her eyes at his series of responses, taciturn even for him.

“Jack, can we drop the pretense? I do get a newspaper and I can read,” she said. “I know about the witness and I know about the additional charges. Are they calling you in to corroborate the story?”

“Yes,” is all he said, and she huffed out a little breath at his reply. Then he stood up abruptly. “Miss Fisher, I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s very late and I should be heading home. My shift ended…” he paused to look at his watch.

“Your shift ended yesterday, Jack. You were off today,” she pointed out, and Jack wasn’t in the least bit surprised that she knew.

“I had things to do,” he offered by way of explanation.

“You had things to avoid,” she retorted, but not unkindly. “I’m here to help.”

“With all due respect, I don’t see how.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“No,” he answered, stepping around his desk and walking over to get his coat and hat.

“Do you want to drink about it?” she countered.

He paused, hat halfway to head. He shook his head a little in accepted resignation and stared at his hat, knowing, in the end, it would be as it always was with her - he shouldn’t, but he would. 

“Perhaps.”

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a very expensive bottle of whisky, which she then swung enticingly back and forth. Jack looked at the bottle, nodded at her, and hung his hat back on the hook. Then he grabbed two glasses off his cabinet, placed them on the desk, reclaimed his seat, and waited for her to pour.

She split four fingers between the two of them and recorked the bottle. Then she slid his glass over to him and pointedly met his eyes.

“So, do you want to start over?”

He nodded, grabbing the glass and drinking half in one gulp. She wondered if perhaps she should have left the bottle uncorked.

“How are you?”

“Terrible,” he answered, honestly this time.

“And Rosie?” she asked.

“Gone,” he said. “Not permanently, I don’t think, but she has a cousin in Sydney she’s visiting for a while. She wanted to get out of town for bit.”

“I thought perhaps she was staying with you,” Phryne said. Any other time she might have been fishing for information, but tonight she was just thinking out loud.

“I offered,” Jack said. “I have a guest room,” and Phryne was pleased he had felt the need to add that little detail, “but she declined. I rather think she’s had enough these days of police and men and seeing as how I’m both…” He took another sip. “In any case, she’s earned a bit of time to herself I should think.”

“Does she know? About the… ?”

“Yes. I telephoned her this morning. She deserved to hear it from a friend.”

“That must have been difficult,” she said.

“It wasn’t easy.”

“Well, Jack,” she began, not quite sure what else to say and trying to lighten the mood a bit, “nothing that matters - ”

“Miss Fisher, if you’ve come here to quote yourself… ”

“I came here to see if you needed anything.”

“Answers,” he said, running his free hand over his hair in frustration and loosening it just a little. “I need answers.”

“Ah. I’m afraid I don’t have those.”

“No?” he said, tilting his head. “Could it be? Have I finally found your Achilles’ heel?”

“Yes, Jack, you’ve found me out. I am not, as it turns out, an omniscient being. I’m only surprised it took you this long to catch on.”

“Well it is sometimes difficult to be certain.”

“Thank you,” she beamed. “But I know when someone’s avoiding a question. What do you need? What can I do?”

“I don’t know. I...” he trailed off, clearly uncertain what it was he really needed. He smiled, small and sad, and toasted her with glass. “The whisky is a good start though.”

She raised her glass in return.

They sat there for a few minutes, quietly sipping their drinks. Eventually he spoke.

“Murder.”

“I know.”

“He’s being charged with murder, Phryne. _Murder_. And I was there! _We_ were there! He murdered a man right in front of me and I didn’t even…”

“What, Jack? Know? Stop it? Now who’s supposed to be omniscient?”

“Not omniscient, Miss Fisher, just a decent copper.”

“Oh, now you can stop that talk right now. You’re the finest police officer I’ve ever met -”

“Oh - ”

“And before you ask how many I’ve met, the answer will both surprise and upset you, so best leave it alone. I had a bit of a wayward youth. And young adulthood.” She took a sip and muttered under her breath, “And thirties.”

He shook his head, smiling in spite of himself, and took another sip, looking at his glass for a long moment after he was through, the smile fading from his face. The glass was essentially empty now, but he stared at it as though it might possibly hold the answers he was looking for. Eventually Pryne took his glass, gently, and added another finger of whisky, leaving the bottle uncorked this time. She placed the glass in front of him, but he didn’t reach for it.

“I’ve known George Sanderson for almost half my life, Miss Fisher. That man has been involved in practically every major decision I’ve made since I was 19. And now, to find out he betrayed _everything_ , every single belief I thought he held. That we _shared_ … It all feels like a lie.”

“Don’t let his present day crimes color your past, Jack. I’m sure he wasn’t always…” Phryne paused, considering how to most effectively dismiss the charges he was laying against himself. “I’m sure he was a good man, once. You would never have looked up to him if he wasn’t.”

Jack grunted, and Phryne wasn’t sure if it was in agreement or dissent.

“He must have been,” she maintained. “You are the kind of policeman who cares about people, Jack, cares about true justice, not just ‘the law’. And while I’m quite certain that’s pure Jack Robinson, you’re also a good judge of character. You never would have believed in him then if he hadn’t been, at least a little bit, the kind of man you are now.”

Jack didn’t say anything. Just looked at the newspaper on his desk, its headline screaming that former Commissioner Sanderson was being charged with murder. A witness had come forward. Had seen Sanderson talking with Fletcher just before the former had shot Berkowicz. Had confirmed what Phryne had suspected for weeks - Sanderson killed Maurie Berkowicz deliberately, purposely. Possibly with premeditation. Without warning, Jack grabbed the paper and hurled it into the trash, causing Phryne to flinch, slightly, at the sudden movement. Then he leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his hand over his face. 

_He looks so tired_ , Phryne thought, and her heart broke a little at the sight. 

“Is he the reason you became a policeman?” Phryne asked quietly. 

“No. No, that dubious honor belongs to my mother.”

“Really,” Phryne asked, sitting up and leaning forward.

“A story for another day, Miss Fisher,” Jack said, and then chuckled a little as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her face scrunched up in an adorable pout. “No, he’s not the reason I became a cop. But he is the reason I stayed one.”

“After the strike?” she asked.

“Yes, but not for the reasons you think. Or, not _only_ for the reasons you think. After the strike I had a lot of… doubts, about staying on the force. I’d made it through, when so many of my colleagues, my friends - good men, Miss Fisher - hadn’t. It was a… familiar feeling.”

“From after the War?” she asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

“Yes. Although this time at least I knew why. Powerful father-in-law, exemplary service record, nothing that really made me any better than the coppers who were sacked. I started to feel like the whole system was corrupt. I didn’t think I could trust the brass, didn’t even know most of the new men on the force. I told George- I told Sanderson that I felt like a hypocrite. The house was on fire, threatening to spread, and I was just sitting inside, enjoying the warmth.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He said I could complain about it, or I could use my position to put out the fire from inside the house. Then he said, whatever I decided, to stop dithering about being inside or outside and ‘just grab a damn bucket, Jack.’”

“Sounds like he knew you,” she said gently.

“He did. I thought I knew him too. For a long time, he was my Southern Cross - the constant I guided my path by.” He sighed, heavily. Sadly. “And that’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it?”

“What?” she asked.

“After the War, after the strike... there's not a lot of people in my life I trust, Phryne. But I trusted _him_. And if George Sanderson, a man who I considered a mentor and ally, a father, a friend, if that man could betray me, then anyone could. This whole affair… it’s got me feeling like I can’t trust anyone. As though everyone might - everyone _could_ \- betray me.”

“Not everyone,” Phryne said.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m a man who looks at the evidence and the evidence is fairly overwhelming in this case.”

“Not. Everyone,” she repeated firmly.

He finally picked up his glass then and took a sip. “I didn’t peg you for such an idealist, Miss Fisher.”

“It’s not idealism, Jack. It’s experience.”

“Oh, how’s that?” he asked, leaning back in his seat.

“The first thing you learn growing up in Collingwood is that people disappoint you. Betray you, hurt you, rat you out - do whatever they need to do to survive. The second thing you learn is that there are some people who _won’t_. No matter what, those people will always be there for you; they’re the ones you can always, _always_ trust. And those are the people you keep close. The people you never let go. I’ve only ever had a handful. Janey. Mac.” She looked down for a moment, took a breath, and then looked up again to meet his eyes. “You,” she said, and willed him to see that she meant it. 

Jack’s mouth opened a little, his eyebrows raising slightly at the utter faith in him that one small word implied. Then he smiled, just a little and nodded. He reached out across the desk, the same way she had done months before at her kitchen table, and took her hand in his own.

“You,” he repeated.

They sat there for a moment, quiet, holding hands across a desk, and sharing what was probably the most intimate moment either had experienced in years. No one walking in would have known, but sturdy walls, built brick by brick over decades, were tumbling down in that police station tonight. 

Finally, with a parting squeeze, Phryne sat back, and picked up her glass again.

“We had an oath, you know. Janey and I. Mac too, later. During the War.”

“An oath? Sounds serious,” he said, with a teasing smile.

“It was. It is. Do you want to take it with me?”

“I’d be honored,” he said, without any hint of humor this time.

She cleared her throat and recited from memory.

> “Tried and tested.
> 
> Never bested.
> 
> Through boom and bust,
> 
> The one to trust.”

His eyebrows went up a bit and his head quirked to the side. “Wait, wasn't that the ad slogan for the Federation Flour Company?”

She rolled her eyes then. “We were children, Jack, and dirt poor. We took our inspiration wherever we could get it. And sometimes that took the form of the back of a flour bag.”

“And during the War with Dr. MacMillan? What was your excuse then?"

“Oh, we were drunk.”

He laughed at that, and she considered the entire evening a success at the sound.

“Nevertheless, Jack, it remains a very serious oath.”

“Oh absolutely, Miss Fisher.”

“It means that you’ll be there for the other person, no matter what. No matter when, no matter where you are - ”

“As long as it’s in the state of Victoria,” he interjected with a small hidden smile at the corners of his lips. “That’s as far as my authority extends.”

She huffed, but shrugged in acquiescence all the same. “Fine, but right up to the very outskirts. I’m talking the Alps to Warrnambool, Jack, the top of the mountains to the edge of the sea.”

He nodded, solemnly, the smile still evident in his eyes.

“Well,” she motioned with her hand, “go on.”

He paused for a moment trying to remember how it went.

“Tried and tested,” she began.

“Yes, yes.” He coughed to clear his throat. “Tried and tested. Never bested. Through boom and bust,” he paused and suddenly looked at her with such intensity that her breath caught in her throat. “The one to trust.”

“Perfect,” she said, “I mean, that’s how you recited it. Perfectly.”

“Thank you. Must have been all my time as Archie Jones.”

“Mmmmm, must have,” she agreed, smiling at the memory of their very recent duet and charging the moment with a very different energy.

Jack’s eyes wandered down to her smiling mouth and she wondered, not for the first time, if this might be the day he finally just kissed her. 

A loud clang just then from the cells suddenly reminded them of their location and the time, and unsurprisingly he did not.

“I suppose I ought to head home,” he said, standing up and tidying his desk a bit. She could see he was disappointed, but still reeling too much emotionally to do anything else, so she just nodded and stood as well. 

They put on their coats and hats, and walked together outside into the cold night air. Looking up at the sky, she followed his gaze to the stars.

“Looking for that Southern Cross?” she asked.

“From here?” he scoffed. “I’d need a telescope.”

“Oh that’s cheating,” she scolded. “Besides, telescopes are rubbish. They let you see the little things, but they miss the big picture. You can do better than that.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. Then he looked down on her with such a soft expression, for a moment she thought she might cry. “Perhaps I’ve just found something brighter.”

She smiled and then looked up at the stars. “Jaaaaack,” she began, “I know this week is terrible in general. And next week I’m going away with my aunt. But when I return, perhaps you might like to come over for dinner.” She turned to face him fully. “We can discuss the big picture.”

“I’d like that, Miss Fisher. I’d like that very much.”

“Excellent.”

“Until then.”

Jack walked her to her car, and closed the door behind her before setting off towards his own. The sky was clear, the firmament bright, and as Phryne pulled away and began the drive home she couldn’t help but look to the stars and smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Federation Flour is, to my knowledge, not a real company. That absolutely _amazing_ ad slogan is aurora_australis 2018 ™ ;-)


End file.
